


CSI : Cascade

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aldo gets his!</p>
            </blockquote>





	CSI : Cascade

## CSI : Cascade

#### by Darklady

  
  
With thanks to LitGal, who is very very generous in allowing me to play in her sandbox.  
Death of a very minor ( and unloved ) cannon character.  
This story is a sequel to: http://A random bit after Litgal's Control'verse ( but not cannon)

* * *

CSI: Cascade  
by Darklady 

Disclaimer: Not only don't I own the 'Sentinel' TV show, I don't even lay claim to this fanish derivation of it. This is LitGal's universe. I'm just coming over to kick the sand in her sandbox. Fandom: The Sentinel - TV show.  
Pairing: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg. ( also Blair Sandburg/Jim Ellison _grin_ ) But not so you could see. Also Banks-Taggert friendship. Rated: Teen.  
Warning: Slash Universe No p0rn, but....you know where you are. Warning 2: Some people DO love people of the OPPOSITE gender. Cope with it. Archive: Why would you want to? Here, of course. Anywhere else, it would require permission from both myself AND LitGal. For myself, I've likely got no objection, but I can't speak for her. Please ask. 

DEEPEST and most sincere apologies: The writing program I am using apparently WILL NOT reproduce Chinese characters in the posted version. _sigh_ No matter which font I use. If I ever produce a 'zine' format version, the characters WILL be there. (In Chinese. I could not find a 'free translation' web site for Hakka. Any beta's who want to volunteer?? 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"Think it was a trick?" The young patrolman steered gurney as close as possible to the corpse. Not easy, given the narrow hallways of the two bedroom bungalow that held Cascades latest crime scene. Most people though of prostitution as a 'victimless' crime. They'd be surprised how often the client - or the hooker - found out otherwise. Especially when the john invited a stranger home. 

"Trick or treat," his partner snapped back. 

"Not much of a treat for him." The patrolman turned to look as a CSI crew bagged bits of evidence from the side table. Mostly stray papers and crumpled napkins, but the top layer included more probative items - such as a tube of lube. "Condoms aren't even open." 

"Early end to the party." The criminalist didn't glance up, her focus on easing the leather mask off the victims now-bloated face. 

"That stinks." 

"I'll tell you what stinks." The Sergeant cut off the banter. "This crime scene." 

"Hey" The Medical Examiner pulled their attention back. "Be glad the mailman noticed. Another week in this heat wave and we'd be using spoons." 

"Oh my god." The first patrolman staggered back. "I think I recognize this guy. Sarge?" 

"Problem?" The senior officer's tone made it very clear there had better not be one. 

In reply, his officer pointed at the corpse. "Look familiar?" 

"Now why would.... crap." 

"Known perp?" The CSI's voice was casual. Mildly curious. Mask bagged and tagged, she moved to the next bit of perhaps-evidence. 

"Not exactly." The sergeant summoned the photographer over. "That's Lt. Aldo." 

"Sorry, Sergeant." She shrugged, adding the victims hearing aid to her stack of bags. "Don't know him." 

"He retired about three... four years back. Disability." The photog spoke slowly, sorting though a morgue of news-slash-gossip. "Think there was some sort of stink around it." 

"You kids don't know the half of it. Guy was IA, and then some downtown officer busted another I.A. and then this guy opened a file on _him_ and so the first guy sic's his Sentinel on Aldo so the Commissioner got involved and ..." The sergeant spun his hand, indicating the sort brass-coated shit-storm that no sensible street cop got anywhere near. 

"Gentlemen." The M.E. eased them back from the corpse. "This is a crime scene. Not Oprah." 

"Anyway." The sergeant ignored her. "Both guys got moved out or something. Aldo retired and the other guy? I think he went somewhere else." 

The CSI was suddenly interested. "You know the other guy's name? The one in that fight?" 

"Hey - it wasn't like that." The sergeant backed off. "You think a cop would come back after all these years just to even the score?" 

"Someone was surely pissed." The M.E. lifted one hand, feeling the wrist bones slide under the purpled skin. "Body is paste." 

"Guys?" The CSI looked around. "You said the medics broke the window?" 

"Had to." The sergeant shrugged. Yeh, CSI's were assholes about keeping a scene, his body language all-but-said, but before someone came in and checked, how was a regular cop supposed to know it _was_ a crime scene. Let her answer that. "Mailman came out with a registered letter. No one answered but the car was here, so he went to knock on the window. Once he saw the body on the floor he called 911. Paramedics responded. Place was locked so they had to break in." 

"Guys?" She stood, turning slowly, eyes moving over wall after wall. "If they had to break in - how did the perp get out?" 

"Umm?" The photographer shifted nervously. "Are we sure he did?" 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"Sheila." The sergeant leaned out the door, one hand on the broken siding. "You and Leslie want'a give this a look-see?" 

Not that it was really a question. You didn't call I.A. out and then keep them sitting in the car. But you also didn't process a dead cop - even a dead ex-cop - without calling IA. At least, not unless you wanted to be target one for their next investigation. 

"What do you need her looking for?" Sheila Irwin shot her partner an anxious look. A house full of decomp was no place for a Sentinel. 

"If I knew, would I need your girl here to find it?" 

The detective rolled her eyes, but also got to her feet. "Wanna give me a hint? Or is that cheating?" 

"It's the perp that's cheating. You smart detectives tell me this. If the medics had to bust in this way - how did club-guy get out?" 

Irwin stepped in first. "Back doors? Windows?" 

"All checked when we cleared the house. You know we don't let the crime crew in before that." The sergeant pointed at the windows. They all sported iron burglar bars, and from the inside you could see the dead bolts. There were also all intact, save for the one that was decorated with yellow crime tape. That was the window the paramedics had ordered broken when they had been intent on getting to the body. "This ain't no British novel so there's gotta be another door somewhere." He nodded at the Sentinel, who had paused outside. "I'd ask you to _sniff_ it out but..." 

"Leslie honey?" Sheila Irwin took a very shallow breath, testing the air. Foul. "Dial down smell before you come in here." 

Leslie did. 

The sergeant stepped away. "Any signs of... anything?" 

The Sentinel walked slowly to the center of the living room. "There was someone here." 

"Where?" 

"Everywhere. Here." She moved to the open door frame, fists banging against air to simulate banging on the door that was not there. "Then the window." She moved closers, hands flying up and down. "Someone tried to work the grill release, but..." She mimed frustration, as if the lever was not working. 

"It's locked." The sergeant shook his head. "We haven't found the keys. This place is a fucking fortress." 

"Then all the other windows." the woman continued as if no one had spoken. "Palm prints. Fist smears." She spun fiercely. "I can't tell the order." 

"That's OK." Sheila pulled Leslie into a hug. 

"There's ...a....." Leslie sniffed. Froze. Shuddered. "There's something under the stink. I can't hold it." 

"Leslie!" Sheila moved between her partner and the white outline where Aldo had lain. 

"Not the body. Not _this_ body." She pointed at Aldo's spot. "But maybe..." Walking like one in a trance, she drifted north until she hit chest-to-chest with one of the working cops. 

Sheila frowned. "You guys wan to back off and let her work?" 

"Sorry." The man jumped out of the way. "You do your thing." 

Leslie stepped gingerly, easing down the short hall. At the back was a small second bedroom, perhaps planned for children but now serving as general storage and office. "This room. Someone.... here... now..." 

"I thought you said you couldn't hold the scent." The sergeant. who had been following, now paused in the doorway. 

"Heartbeat." 

"Can you have her screen out the..." He stopped at Sheila Irwin's 'are you stupid' glare. 

"Very slow." 

"Where?" Sheila prompted, voice soft. 

Leslie pointed to a closet. "Here." 

"Sheila, we checked all the closets and...." 

"HERE!!" Leslie dropped to her knees. 

"Calm now. Focus. Leslie, it's good." Sheila came up, rubbing her hands over her Sentinel's shoulders. "I'm here. I'm with you." 

Half zoned, Leslie rocked forward. Slat doors inched open with every push. "Here and down and...." Her nails scraped over the stained carpet, until with a _plop_ it came free. Below it showed a fresh square of plywood. "Down and dark and down and..." The wood shifted, revealing shallow pit and a HUGE stench, and beyond that... 

"Oh my GOD!" 

"Is that all blood?" 

The sergeant grabbed Leslie's arm. "Back her up. BACK HER UP!" 

"Fuck you" Sheila pushed the man aside. "Leslie, come with me. Please Leslie." 

Sheila backed Leslie out of the closet - giving the others space to move in. 

The Sergeant reached down, fingers trailing over the pale naked back. Female, young, and covered in brown streaks that... he tried his best to ignore. At least to file away in the no-emotion file called 'evidence - consider later'. "She's cold." 

"I saw her breath." 

"Bring her up." 

Two policemen eased their hands under the young woman's arms, lifting her up and out. 

The other's stepped back, granting them room to rest her on the floor. 

"She's non-responsive." The ME had come over, alerted by the commotion. 

"MEDICS!" the sergeant shouted down the hall. "We need medics!" 

"Worse." The ME shook her head. "She's zoned. We're gonna need the S.I." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"Quick call. Just looking at the site?" Lt. Carolyne Plumber stood at one end of the conference room table. The site crew had returned to the Central police station, and those unfortunate senior members of the units involved had been forced to put off their showers in favor of a task force meeting. "Sentinel Jane Doe struck the victim fifteen blows to the head and upper torso with a blunt object." 

"For reasons unknown." Captain Taggert finished. 

Sheila Irwin rolled her eyes. "I could take a guess." 

"Ms. Doe then returned to the closet and pulled the floor over her head." 

"And remained there until discovered in the course of investigation." Taggert nodded at Lewis and her partner. "Anyone want to tell me - forget me - anyone want to tell the PRESS - what a retired police officer was doing with a zoned out Sentinel stashed in his closet?" 

"Technically she was..." 

"... Under the floor of the closet. Whatever..." Taggert waved off the correction. "Question is, what was she doing in the house at all?" 

Palmer flipped though the files. "Any chance he'd been given..." 

_ahem_ A double glare from the team at the other side. 

Palmer shifted in mid-vowel "...been named guardian of your Sentinel?" 

"Not likely." Leslie wiggled her chair closer to her partner. "And she's not _her_ Sentinel." 

"Maybe he was part of the railroad?" Taggert shifted the discussion back to more professional - and safer - ground. A cop turned runner-bunny would suck beyond the telling of it, but as criminal involvement went? The public tended to view escorts as more-crazy-than-evil, and more idealistic than pure-loon-crazy. While the average citizen wouldn't want some wild eyed dreamer smuggling a runner onto _their_ plane or train? Well, most of them still had a soft spot for 'helpers' in general. Escorts weren't in it _intending_ to hurt people, they weren't in it for the money, and no one without a tin hat thought the railroad was a government conspiracy. While some would say Aldo got what he deserved for dealing with crazed runners, even the harshest wouldn't extend the condemnation to the Cascade PD. 

"Aldo?" Plumbers expression said much more than one word. 

"Not what you'd call an altruist?" The silence was his answer. "OK. Out of character, but..." 

But nobody was buying it. 

Sheila looked at Leslie before offering. "Doesn't pass the smell test." 

"You're defending him?" Taggert frowned. "I thought you..." 

"No. I meant it literally. Leslie never liked the way he _smelled_ and..." 

"Right." Runners could smell escorts. Not that it was admissible in court. Because 'he smells like a good man' was .. right. Want the ACLU to take up permanent residence in your ass? Try that. But as urban myths went? Most cops had learned to go along with the 'let him go'. The difference between escorts and slavers was that slavers smelled bad. 

"But the alternative?" Taggert frowned. "Dealing?" 

Leslie whispered something into her partners ear. 

Sheila patted her hand. 

Leslie smiled. 

"Ladies?" Taggert leaned closer. 

Leslie hesitated, ducked her head, then... "Aldo did have a fascination with Sentinels." 

Taggert considered that for a minute, then reached for the phone. "I have a sudden fascination with Mr. Aldo's bank account. Think I can find a judge who is equally fascinated?" 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"How's your Jane Doe doing?" Captain Simon Banks paused at the open doorway of the conference room Taggert had taken over. 

"She's... not. Doing anything, that is." Joel Taggert sweep the nearest mound of files aside. With the other hand, he motioned Banks in. "They've got her at Cascade General, and she's still breathing, but that's about it." 

"Trace?" Banks took the seat indicated. 

"Collected." Taggart pulled one sheet of paper out of the chaos. "Blood is Aldo's. Most of it." 

"Any idea why?" 

"Did a rape kit." 

"And?" Banks asked. 

Taggert handed over a second report. "That's Aldo too." 

Banks frowned. "So those chains on the bedposts aren't just for fun." 

"Oh, I'm sure someone thought they were fun." 

"Just not this lady." Banks lifted the CSI photo. Even cleaned, her bruised face told all he needed to know. 

"Apparently not." 

Banks paused to consider that point. Yes, it was legal for a guardian to chain a Sentinel. Even - under certain circumstances - to chain one to a bed. But as Aldo wasn't any sort of guardian, and these weren't near those sort of circumstances, then.... "S.I. call her guardian?" 

"Who would that be?" 

Simon's eyebrow's shot up. "ID?" 

"No tracker." Joel Taggert answered. "Not in the system." 

"Finger prints?" 

"Not in the system." 

**"DNA?"**

"Not in the system." 

"So." Simon Banks set down the picture. "I'm getting a theme here. Not registered, not a legal immigrant, and if she was passing ... one extremely law abiding citizen." He rubbed his chin, taking in the possibilities presented. "Luggage? Personal effects? If she was taken when traveling...." 

Joel shook his head. "None found." 

Well, now, Banks thought. That was different. "What about her clothing?" 

"Not much. And what there is was purchased four days ago at Mall-Mart. CSI found the receipt on the desk." Taggert flipped though several files until he unearthed a crumpled length of cash register tape. Running a finger down the faded lines, he read. "Two tops, two pants, two bras, four undies, and one pair of slippers." 

"Let me guess. The only thing worn was the set she's wearing now." Banks rocked back, eyes searching some inner space. "I'm getting a very bad feeling about this." 

"Took you this long?" 

"You think someone would be missing a girl that pretty." Banks took up a second picture, an 'artists view' that had been tucked beneath the victim snaps. Holding it to the light, he asked. "She look local to you?" 

"What's local look like?" Taggert twisted, giving the rendering his close attention. "Although? I'd bet she's not from Oregon." Taking in the other Captain's surprised expression, Taggert finished the old joke. "She doesn't have the moss growing on the north side of her nose." 

"Very funny." But Simon did smile, however reluctantly. "Let's send our dental guy out there. And a portable x-ray. If her outsides can't tell us who she is - maybe her insides will." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

Sheila Irwin stormed down the hallway, Leslie scurrying inches behind. "We got the bank records." 

"And?" Joel Taggert held out his hand. She had something to show for her morning's work, he knew, or she would have been even more irate. This was a Sentinel case, and the only thing that enraged a Guardian more than proof of Sentinel abuse was suspecting abuse that they could _not_ prove. 

The AI detective grinned bitterly as she flipped him a canceled check. "Lawyer's payment - two months ago. Final appeal for qualification for guardianship." 

"He's been rejected?" 

"Three times, apparently. This was the and-you're-out." Her tone added 'and it couldn't happen to a more UN-deserving chump'. Guardians also held a deep grudge against wanna-be guardians who wanted to be for what they considered the wrong reasons. These days, that was getting to be a long _long_ list and Aldo had still managed to check every box. 

"So how...?" 

Like a magician, she produced a second bit of paper. "THIS check was last week." 

"To?" 

Irwin just smiled. Something like a barracuda at a ClubMed swim-in. 

"Cash?" he ventured. 

"Withdrawal in person." She handed over the check. 

Taggert read the number. The _large_ number. "Have to be. That's way over the ATM limit." 

Irwin leaned into the wall, relaxing. She had made her point. "He took it in hundred dollar bills." 

"Now THAT'S not suspicious or anything." Taggert slid the check into a plastic evidence envelope. "And since we didn't find the bills in the house? Or any luxury purchases?" It was a question - but only grammatically. 

Sheila Irwin reached back, finding her partners hand. Their fingers twisted together. "Oh, I think we found his luxury purchase all right." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"O.K. people." Captain Simon Banks went from face to face, considering each of the very senior police officers he had summoned to his office. They were truly Cascade's finest, the best of the best, and between them they had given over a century of service to the good people of Cascade. And now, with the vultures of the press circling above and the snakes of the City Council curling below, he needed them to... "Give me something." 

Something to crack the case, or at least to get the outsiders off of _their_ case. 

"Don't look at me." Joel Taggert met Bank's stare straight on. "I've got squat." 

Which summed up the situation beautifully. 

Banks held up one hand, counting off fingers. "We've got a dead retired police lieutenant with no priors in his background, a comatose female with no background at all, and... fuck..." His hand smacked against his desk. "Where do we even start..." 

Taking a deep breath, Banks pushed down his rising frustration. It was useless, and these people before him were _not_. They would come though. He had faith. He pointed to Lt. Plumber. "Start with what we have." 

"The house?" She suggested, passing out evidence reports. "It was clean. I mean _really_ clean. Makes me wanna hire the bastard's maid service." She handed the last file to Sheila Irwin. "That's a sign of Sentinels, right?" 

"Or of someone who knows how to destroy evidence." Irwin countered. 

"Nothing but a couple boxes of old take-out in the fridge. Nothing probative." Plumber read down her own writing. "Found some..." her voice lifted... " _toys_ in the night stand. No DNA. So either they're new or our deceased ran them though an autoclave." 

"Hey" Taggert shook his head over the various 'toys' listed. "Why is it the bad guys always have the great sex? Answer me that." 

"Can't have been that great at the end." Plumber countered. "She bashed his skull in." 

"Yeh." Sheila smirked. "Talk about your head job." 

"People!" Simon's baritone drew them back to their duty. 

Carolyne Plumber passed around more pictures. "We found a padded space in the attic. Amateur soundproofing. Cot. Sink. Key bolt in the door. No trace there either, but might have been a" her fingers formed air quotes "game room." 

"Or a Sentinel safe-room?" Banks asked. 

Sheila Irwin pulled Leslie closer. "More a Sentinel jail cell." 

"You're still thinking traffic?" Taggert turned. "That's money _in_ , and..." 

"Who interviewed the neighbors?" Banks asked. "Our departed colleague have any suspicious visitors lately?" 

"First, there aren't any neighbors. House to the left is a rental. Vacant since last March. House to the right belongs to two snowbirds. They're down in Miami and..." Taggert checked the report. "They say they've never even met Aldo." 

"Anyone else?" 

"Guy across the street mentioned _not_ seeing anyone lately. Which is unusual only in that they usually see each other. Guy walks his dog past Aldo's yard, and Aldo comes out to make sure the dog doesn't..." Taggart finger-mimed a dog raising his leg, using the other Captain's nameplate as a stand-in tree. " Aldo hates his dog. Appears the feeling is mutual." 

"Which would be great is we were looking for a suspect, but we know who bashed Aldo." 

"And we know why he wasn't in the yard for the last few days." 

"Yeah. The Sentinel. In the Kitchen. With a blunt object." Banks tossed the bound papers onto the towering in basket. "So how come we can't buy a clue?" 

There was no answer to that. "I've asked Yaden to give me all possible dealers in Cascade, but so far..." Sheila Irwin held up her hands. Her empty hands. 

Taggert jerked back. "I thought he'd have that list tattooed on his ass." 

"Might be why I don't see it." Irwin snapped. "He's covering his ass." 

"???" Simon Banks might not have _said_ anything, but that didn't mean the whole room couldn't hear the question. 

"Captain Banks, we have to face facts." People aren't gonna trust IA to investigate an IA - especially when that IA was accused of using the unit to..." Slapping the folder closed, she jammed the papers into her already bulging briefcase. "No one is going to trust us until we clear ourselves, but we aren't going to be able to clear ourselves if someone doesn't start trusting us." 

"It's gonna be one long hot summer." Standing, Irwin guided her Sentinel to the door. "I'm not even sure I trust us." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

Into the valley of death, Simon Banks quoted to himself as he paced the long LONG fifteen feet to the podium. At the Police Commissioner's request ( read demand ) the Cascade PD ( read said Simon Banks ) had accepted the invitation to make a statement... in much the same way early Christians had accepted lunch invitations from lions. 

"Captain, what do you have to say about the murder of...." "Is it true that..." "What is the Cascade PD policy on..." 

He didn't bother sorting out the questions. Or the voices. 

_tap_ _tap_ The microphone was live so... "Thank you for coming here." 

The questions quieted - from screaming mob to dull roar. 

"At this time I can only confirm the death of former police Lieutenant Francis J. Aldo. The cause of that death is still under investigation." 

"But it's murder, right?" A photogenic blonde in the front row preened. "The girl killed him and... " 

Simon ignored her - as did her competitors. They were her to pose their own questions, not to showcase hers. 

"A young Asian female was recovered from the scene." Behind the podium, the latest photo was flashed on the screen, along with the artists version of her undamaged face. "We are asking the public's help to discover her identity." 

"My sources say she's a Sentinel." An older man - well known for his radio commentary - popped up on the left. "Can you confirm?" 

Simon would confirm nothing. Not even by glancing over. "The status of our second victim is undetermined." 

"You said victim." The chief reporter from the Cascade Times stood up. "You're not looking at her as a suspect?" 

The man had been helpful to the CPD before so... Simon tossed him a crumb. "We do not anticipate filing charges against her at this time. As I said, the investigation is ongoing." 

"What about a trafficking ring in the...." 

Give them an inch and... that was enough. "Again, we need the public's help to solve this crime. Anyone with any information as to this young lady's identity, or who thinks they might have seen her at any time in the past two weeks, is asked to call..." 

The rabble of questions drowned out the phone number. No matter. It was in the book. By broadcast time, some junior producer would have looked it up. 

Formally thanking the press for coming, Simon surrendered the podium. 

Back in the station proper, Commissioner Mantail was waiting. 

"Captain?" 

"Commissioner?" 

"Great press conference. What there was of it." Grabbing Simon's sleeve, the police commissioner steered him into the nearest empty office. "I've got the S.I. on my back, not to mention calls from the American Bonded Rights League and the Cascade AntiSlavery Council. All three of them are going to ask for authority over..." 

Simon Banks cut the man off. "You got one from Angel Force?" 

"Captain!" 

"Because unless we get a break here, the only thing anyone is gonna be able to do for that girl is bury her." Which the charity might. They (far too) regularly buried unclaimed infants, and when they could those other nameless dead that fit their definitions of 'holy innocent'. A battered raped kidnapped teen would likely make the list. Even a Sentinel. 

"Unless you get the press off my back, I'm going to bury you. We understand each other? Captain?" 

Simon smoothed the wrinkles out of his jacket sleeve. "Yes, Commissioner. I understand you just fine." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"Dental came back." Joel Taggert stood in the doorway to Simon's office. "I got good news, bad news and worse news." 

Simon looked up, unperturbed. "What's the bad?" 

"Judging by the two fillings she has, our girl isn't North American. Mercury algam in the fillings." 

Which would never be used in a Sentinel - not by a responsible dentist. It was rarer and rarer even in normal patients. Not worth the risk. None of which Taggart had to tell the other Captain. 

"What the worse news." 

Taggart took the seat Banks hadn't offered. "Judging by the wisdom teeth she doesn't have? Our victim is fourteen. Eighteen max." 

"Which makes our departed brother in blue a rapist slaver pedophile. Oh - the PR folks are going to love this." And Simon was so not gonna get a free ride on the next news conference. Not even from the Times. He looked up. "So what's the good news. 'Cause I need some." 

"Baby's got bite." Joel Taggert held up a photo showing a slide centered with tiny pink/brown/red specks. 

"Aldo?" 

"Older." Taggert slid the print onto Bank's desk. "Whoever took her - she took some of him back." 

"Thank god." Simon breath made it a prayer, not a swear. "Joel, I hate to make this political but... we need to be arresting someone." 

"Like someone guilty?" Taggert frowned. 

"Of course, someone guilty." Simon cut though the suggestion. "But the active word there is _someone_." Shuffling together a stack of office memos, he passed the bulk to his fellow Captain. " You know how things are. The press is smelling blood. Once word gets around that we had an IA go bad? And lets face it Joel - it will get around - and this is one hell of a spectacular definition of bad. If we don't move on this - if they don't _see_ us move on this - people are going to start talking coverup and once that hits the fan...?" Banks didn't say more. He knew that Taggert matched him in experience as well as rank, and that both men shared the same political enemies, even if Simon's had been more evident as his duties had increased. "If we don't take heads, the Cascade TImes is going to be after ours." 

" Only two people there , and both of them dead." Joel Taggert sighed. This was like the domestic call from hell. "It's gonna be hard to _prove_ anything." 

"She isn't dead yet." 

"Yet. But a three day zone?" Taggert stood. "S.I.'s already tried to bring her out and.... not good. Doctor's are saving insulin shock as a last resort but...." 

Right. Simon didn't need to be told what a bad plan that was. Even if by some long shot she survived, the memory damage would keep her out of court for life. 

"I need an answer, Joel." 

"You _need_ a miracle." Joel froze, words halfway out of his mouth - feet halfway to the door. "No. You know what we really need, Simon? We need Sandburg." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"Thanks for coming." The white uniformed S.I. officer greeted Blair Sandburg with... well... about the same sincere enthusiasm that Blair had greeted the summons back to Cascade. Not that either side seriously thought the other was about to 'try something'. Not after what happened in Georgia. But that didn't mean that the core S.I. loved and trusted Sandburg anymore than the 'Sandbergests' loved and trusted the S.I.. 

Ellison Sr.'s legal crew had worked out a sort of mutual destruction pact. S.I. didn't say anything about Blair and Jim, Jim didn't say anything about his time with the Rangers, and a team of Rangers didn't take out the S.I. looking for security leaks. Plus Blair didn't put any of those _interesting_ case studies into his papers. 

That didn't mean the S.I. was prepared to validate his authority, any more than he was willing to acknowledge their. 

Still, on the up side? At this level the personnel really did want what was best for 'their' Sentinels. Even if they were past-reason convinced that the other wasn't it. 

Joel Taggert was waiting beside the bed. 

"Welcome back, Blair. Jim." He pointed at the pale body lying almost motionless under a just-slightly-whiter sheet. "That's our vic." 

Blair took in the fragile form. Short, even for a woman. Even for a young _young_ woman. Thin, barely lifting the sheet in the middle of the pressure - foam mattress. Shoulder length black hair lay smoothly over the uncrumpled pillow. Only the red fever blush broke the monochrome. 

"Pretty." 

_gurr_ Jim wasn't _quite_ growling at his partners remark, but Blair could feel the panther pacing just beyond perception. 

"Jim. Jim." Blair whispered, taking Jim's hand. "She's a kid." 

"So?" Jim pulled Blair into himself - and incidentally further away from the sleeping Sentinel. "You'd hump a table leg." 

"My wood is only for you." 

Jim reassured, Blair studied the hospital room. Likewise the woman who slept in it. 

"IV?" He asked. Which there obviously was, but... why was the question. Drugs could complicates matters. With anyone - but more so with a Sentinel, and when you made that a zoned sentinel... 

"Hydration. Nutrition." The S.I. officer - apparently a nurse- handed over a file. "We didn't want to risk a nasal cannula unless you..." 

Can't bring her back, even with your crazy moonbat voodoo crack. Blair would put money that some or all of those terms had been used when the local S.I. 'experts' had heard who was coming in. 

"No no." Blair reassured her. "I understand. You did good." Which hurt like hell to say to a white-shirt, but in his more honest moments Blair acknowledged they weren't incompetent. Misguided, misinformed, and missing any grasp of the obvious, but not - technically - _bad_ at Sentinel care. 

"If you're planning to order insulin shock..." She started. The finish of which sentence was clearly 'it will be over my dead body - if not preferably yours'. Not that she would _say_ anything that provocative. Not out loud. Not with a 'stressable' Sentinel in the room. But just because she didn't say it didn't mean that Blair couldn't hear the message loud and clear. 

Lucky that he not only agreed with it, he agreed with the attitude behind it. Anyone who would torture a Sentinel just to get them talking? Lets just say Jim wasn't the only man in the room inclined to 'sudden rage' at the idea. 

"I've got another technique." Blair patted the edge of the bed, indicating where Jim should sit. "One we've started using in Holland." Where the locals were calmer about words involving the letters S and X. 

Stepping to the other side of the bed, Blair settled into the narrow strip beside the sleeping woman. 

Jim leaned back on the opposite side. 

Carefully, the two of them eased their hands under her pillow until her head rested in a cradle of their linked arms. 

"Come on, baby." Blair crooned. "Come back. It's all safe now." 

"He's here. I'm here." Jim echoed. "No one's going to hurt you. Not with a Sentinel on guard." 

Moving ever closer, they rocked her between them. 

"All safe." Blair and Jim spoke as one. "All safe now." 

Her eyelids fluttered. 

The S.I. nurse saw, and gasped. 

"Safe. Safe here. Safe with us." 

Blair squeezed one hand, and Jim the other. 

"Come back to us, little dragon." 

"Come back to us. Come back to your people. Come back." 

Her eyelids fluttered again, then opened. 

"Welcome back." Blair stroked her cheek. "What's you name?" 

"-----" The foreign words slid over Jim's ears in a tangle of sound. 

"Hey." Joel Taggert applauded. "She's speaking! Score one for the kid!" Leaning over, he slapped Blair heartily on the back. "Good work Chief!" 

The girl clutched Sandburg's arm. "-----" 

"Anyone understand that?" Taggert asked the room. In the last seconds, it had filled with personnel. Some S.I.. Some medical. Some the police guards at the back of the mob that _should_ have stayed on post outside the door, no matter how much cheer their superior officer was sounding. No matter. All of them, whatever their source or reason, proved equally ignorant. 

Finally, one of the scrub-suited men ( obviously medical but which sort Taggert wouldn't even guess ) stepped forward. 

"I wouldn't swear but..." he paused, mouthing the words as if that would make them clearer. "I think it's Chinese. Not that I can exactly understand her but..." 

"OK. That backs up physical findings. Not American. Not even Canadian or Mexican. So Illegal immigrant, which means smugglers, or...." 

Taggert pushed the audience out of the room and the police back to their posts. On the way out, one uniformed policeman passed near the bed. 

"AHHH!!!!" The girl screamed. "---------------------" 

"Anyone?" Taggert looked around. Where had that guy gone? Oh, there by the door. 

"I think that means help" Blair offered. 

The girl was sitting up now, screaming and crying and gripping Blair's arm like it was the ladder out of hell. "---------------------" 

"Yes", the young man in the green shirt confirmed. "That definitely means help." 

"That fucks it." Joel glared his distaste at no-one-in-particular. "Slavers!" 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"Good news, Simon." Joel Taggert again stood in the doorway to the Major Crimes Captain's office. This time, however, his posture was relaxed. Even triumphant. "Sandburg came through again! Our girl Sentinel is talking, and while we can't exactly say _what_ she's saying, it's pretty clear we've got ourselves a slaver ring." 

Simon Banks looked less than impressed. "How come your good news always sounds so much like my bad news? Or are you here to tell me we finally have someone to arrest?" 

"Not exactly. Not yet." Taggert backtracked. " But? Look at it this way. When we do decide who to arrest? At least now we'll have a victim who can swear out the complaint." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

By the time Captain Taggert made it back to the hospital, Ms. Jane Doe was sitting up in bed. Or rather Miss Chen Ximena. Which was really Ximena Chen, but since both ways it was near-unpronounceable he'd mentally been thinking of her as Xena. Not that she was tall, or Greek, or ( to the best of his knowledge ) descended from any mythical being. On the other hand, she did have the toughness thing going for her. 

The hospital staff had found her some pajama bottoms and a Cascade Jags tee shirt. They both hung on her, of course, but just having normal clothes seemed to have lifted the girl's spirit. She was also wearing lipstick, he noticed. The wrong shade of red, Taggert suspected, but even so it distracted from the green and yellow of the healing bruises. 

The spare chair held a large stuffed bear. A gift from Sheila and Leslie. Irwin had mentioned as much in their briefing. Blair and Jim were probably behind the quilted lap blanket. Who had sent the balloon bouquet by the window was anyone's guess. 

Blair was busy, so Taggert asked Jim Ellison. "They find a translator?" 

"Not yet - but" he lifted one of the little white cartons off of the night stand. "According to Blair, dim sum covers a multitude of absent vocabulary." 

Clearly, as Blair was still chatting away. In English, but... "Danny Choi came down and tried, but turns out she speaks some northern dialect." 

The S.I. nurse was knitting a sweater in the other corner. "We're flying a specialist up from San Francisco." 

"Well" Taggert opened his briefcase. "Until the specialist gets here, do you think our girl can look at some pictures?" 

"Why not?" Blair took the open book of mug shots and set it on the bed. 'Xena' ignored it. At least, until Blair and a fresh spring roll drew her attention. 

Spotting the book, she flipped though the pages. No particular interest. At least none that Taggert could make out. Then - suddenly - she froze - one hand suspended above the plastic coated page. One with a familiar, unforgotten, guilty-if-not-yet-convicted, face. 

_rip_

_thud_

The photo hit one wall. The book hit the other. 

The nurse gasped! 

Blair shrugged. 

Taggart smiled. "I think the court would consider that a definable reaction." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"Good evening, Mr. Inzunza." Detective Sheila Irwin called cheerily. It was the sort of voice that implied that - happy as she was to see you - she'd be even happier to see you torn to small bloody pieces and sprinkled about the Cascade Rose Garden. Likewise that events could be coming to that happy state any moment now. At her back, her partner waited. "How would you like give us a few moments of your time. And a bit of your DNA, of course." 

"This is an unwarranted..." 

"Nope. We've got a warrant." Joel Taggert came up on the other side, paper in hand. "So far just for a chat, but once we hear what you have to say?" And disprove it, was the implied addendum. 

He'd managed to lawyer up and bullshit his way out of the major charges when Dessy went down. (Mostly because Washington _still_ wouldn't talk, the punk. Which was past stupid, Taggert considered, because 'Zunzi' was no man's beshte. He would clearly have thrown Washington to the wolves - or the S.I. - if he'd thought it would have bettered his own deal.) 

"Come along now." Irwin spun him into the wall and cuffed his hands. "Peacefully, by preference." Whose preference, she didn't state. 

"You're a lucky _lucky_ man." Taggert added as together they eased him into the patrol car. "You have a date with a beautiful woman." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"This isn't the police station." Daniel Inzunza was starting to sound nervous. 

"Nope." Taggert answered. "It's a hospital." 

"You ought to be grateful." Irwin answered, still as bright as if attending a cocktail party. "You might need to be here soon enough." 

"Yeh." The car stopped, and Taggert pulled the prisoner forward. "We're just cutting out the commute." 

"Everything ready, Sandburg?" 

"Head of children's psychiatric services offered us her observation room. 326 B." 

"Great." Taggert turned to the waiting policemen. " See the gentlemen gets there. And make sure he doesn't 'run into' anyone on the way." 

By the time the S.I. crew was notified, Daniel Inzunza had been settled into the viewing room. His two police guards had left him, taking up their posts on the other side of the one-way glass. It was a set up much like a police interview room. Well, provided you overlooked little details like the anatomical rag dolls and the piles of soft plastic blocks. 

By the time a combined crew of S.I. and medical personnel had wheeled Ximena's chair across the hospital, 'Zunzi' was actually looking bored. None of which bothered Taggert. He wasn't here to waste time with whatever lies the man planned to pitch. 

Instead, he just waited while Sandburg and Ellison brought their star witness up'. 

"---------------------"She threw herself at the window, hitting the glass again and again until her legs gave out entirely. 

"That's our song." Taggert blew mock kisses to Sheila and Leslie, who had posted themselves on 'Xena's' other side. "I may not know the words, but I love the music." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"So." Captain Simon Banks summarized the last hour of reports. "DNA links him to our girl, and our girl links him to traffickers and..?" 

"Our raid on his restaurant turned up a _very_ interesting refrigerator." Taggert offered it as a riddle. "What sorta meat do you store at 68 degrees ?" 

"The sort that's still alive?" Jim Ellison answered. 

"Bingo." Sandburg shot back. 

Ellison had come along as a secondary witness and stayed as...well... mostly a watchdog because Blair wasn't getting out of his sight so long as Inzunza was in the same state. But in the mean time, something of a rabid pit bull as well. 

Neither Banks nor any of the others were complaining. Zunzi's restaurant - read front and money laundry - was the sort of search that had needed a Sentinel - but the sort of case a Sentinel _seriously_ didn't need. Fortunately, Leslie was staying stable. So far. Well, stable as long as Sheila stayed within arms length. But the two women were probably the CPD's strongest Sentinel team. Thus the assignment to IA, where they might need to work against _other_ Sentinel/Guardian pairs. 

Simon Banks had other teams, but few he could trust not to go instinctive if a search turned up damaged Sentinels. Or, worse yet, damaged 'guides'. Not that the category was officially recognized, not by the European term or the more American 'beshte', but Grandma Banks never had a fool for a grandson. 

Banks knew what was what and who was who, and right now Ellison was who was here. Plus the man had steel nerves, control to spare, and a bloody minded clarity that would have made him a first rate detective in any police force. He's have hired the man even without Sandburg. Together? 

The traffickers would never know what hit them. Which was only a pity because the bastards deserved to feel the hit. 

"We've got the combat accountants working on the books but..." Lt. Carolyne Plumber gave them a wistful smile. 

Right, Simon thought. Not a restaurant in the world kept honest books. Not even the honest ones. 

"This place deliver?" Ellison asked. 

Taggert rolled his eyes. "All sorts of things, I'd bet." 

"Yeh." Ellison agreed. "But I'm thinking about Aldo's last meal." 

Captain Taggert thought back. The CSI report had said something about takeout in the fridge. Had they bothered to backtrack the sources? "You think it came from Inzunza's place?" 

"No idea but..." 

"Plumber? Could you have your people check that?" 

"And have her check the cell phone records." Sandburg pitched in. 

"Calls?" Carolyne Plumber had her Blackberry out, and was typing rapidly. 

"And roaming." Sandburg added. "See if the towers can tell us where Inzunza and his delivery guys have been." 

"Because if we can place Zunzi's guys at Aldo's place, or even Aldo at Zunzi's restaurant." Simon rubbed his hands at the thought. 

"Captain? I've got something." Lt. Plumber focused on her screen. "Turns out that the restaurant did indeed deliver to Aldo's place. One order of Emperor Yu's Special Delight." 

"Anyone see that on the menu?" 

"Not me." Sheila Irwin passed the red-covered folder around. 

Taggert flipped the pages. General Tso. Imperial Shrimp. No Emperor anything. No anything Yu. "Not even near. Not on this menu." 

Sandburg considered. "Don't think I've seen it on _any_ menu." And over the years he had eaten a _lot_ of ethnic food. Much of it in places where it wasn't ethnic food. More like home cooking. 

"And get this." Plumber continued. "Going by the register book? He didn't pay for it." 

"Oh, he paid for it all right." Sheila Irwin held up the incriminating check she had found earlier. "Now Daniel Inzunza's _really_ gonna pay. 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

Captain Taggert was all but bouncing as he made his way back to the hospital. Inzunza was arrested. All of Inzunza's drivers were arrested. The cooks and waiters were arrested. CSI was going though the restaurant with an electron microscope, and any stray punks temporarily _un_ arrested were just that. Temporary. Best of all, the judge had agreed to Miss Xena's right to testify. All they needed was the special translator from San Francisco and... with just a smidge of luck ... Inzunza wouldn't just be in jail, he'd be _under_ the jail. 

His great mood continued as the police guards let him into Xena's room. Someone had done some serious shopping, and the result was almost dorm-like. Movie posters covered the bland health announcements on the walls, and a potted bamboo plant had replaced the fading flowers. A folding table was half buried under books and magazines. Taggert couldn't read the covers, so he assumed those were gifts from the translator. Which meant, best of all, that she had to be here. 

Probably the grim looking older woman in the sharply tailored white suit. Nice cloth. She had to make an effort to still look that dumpy. Rafe would have been impressed. In the negative. 

"Captain Joel Taggert. Cascade PD." He held out his hand. "I'd guess you're the translator we've been expecting." 

The woman accepted the handshake. Slowly. "Dr. Jennifer Hsu. Senior Administrative Case Manager. Sentinel Institute. Western Division. San Francisco office." 

"Welcome to Cascade." 

Taggert winked at Xena over her shoulder. 

The girl giggled. 

The S.I. administrator snapped out an order in (presumedly) Chinese. Whatever it was, it got the young lady under discussion busy packing. 

"I'm wondering if you and Miss Chen could come down to the Central Cascade Station. We'd like to take her formal statement as soon as possible." 

Dr. Hsu shook her head. "That wouldn't be possible." 

"OK. I can get a court reporter out here, if it's too early for her to travel. Although from what her doctor said...." 

"Sentinel Ximena is now under my authority." 

"Since when!?" And what, Taggert bit back, gave you the delusion that your administrators 'authority' outpulled that of a bench warrant? 

"Our judge will be appointing me as her advocate." 

"You're a social worker?" Sure, Taggert thought. And Santa Clause is a hitman for the reindeer mob. 

"Not formally, but as a senior officer of the Sentinel Institute I can serve as temporary guardian while she is moved out of the hospital to a more permanent residence." 

"Great." Which it was, he supposed. At least that Xena was recovering. Although if she was fit to leave, why the heck wasn't she fit to stop off at the station on the way to her new home. "Officer Choi's family has already offered to take her in. She can stay there until she learns basic English and then.... by the time the trial date comes..." 

"Sorry." She sounded anything but. "We're moving this Sentinel to the Secluded Rehabilitative Facility in Molokai." 

"No chance." Taggert countered. "We need her here to testify." 

"You're the one with no chance." Dr. Hsu growled out another order. "This is one seriously damaged Sentinel. Not to mention one traumatized young woman. She needs therapy. She needs several _years_ in which to recover. She needs training." 

All of which was fine and good, Taggert thought. But since the lady was talking about _years_ , surely those years could include a few _days_ to bring down the bastards who messed her up in the first place. He was no Sentinel specialist, but surely seeing justice done had to go a long way to making her feel better. 

He wiggled his fingers at Xena. "You want to help us, right?" 

The words meant nothing, of course, but something of the tone clearly got across. The girl paused in her packing and waved back. 

"Even then." Hsu continued obviously. "Unless by some miracle she tests out stable and bondable - she's going to need a very patient guardian who can control..." 

Taggert cut off the spiel. "Get her a guardian here. Like Mrs. Choi." 

"Even if the Institute could find her an acceptable temporary guardian, that would just make it harder on her in the long run. She's had enough traumatic changes." 

"We need her here." He spoke slowly, praying the woman would see reason. "We need her to testify. 

"Without a bond mate? She's useless. Broken. Likely always will be." That tone must have come across as easily as Taggert's, because he could see her slump over her suitcase. "Even if I allowed it, whatever she said would be worthless." 

Well, yes. If Hsu and company insisted on hauling the girl off to some Sentinel loony bin. Because an officially unstable, unbonded, traumatized, non-English-speaking Sentinel with rage issues was ... a defense attorneys dream witness. No way a jury was going to believe her over whatever sharp tongued defense liar Inzunza would hire. 

So between the Hsu and crying Sentinel? There was only one thing to do. 

Taggert flipped out his phone and dialed. 

**"SANDBURG!!!!"**

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

True to his last-minute-miracle reputation, Sandburg had managed to dig up a second translator. Where from, Taggert hated to speculate. With luck, maybe Rainier. But given that the only luck Taggert seemed to be having this week was _bad_ luck? The jeans clad thirty-something with the lavender hair was probably some lunatic from the Spirit Watchmen Resistance Tribe. 

Unlike the S.I. official, this translator was managing maybe nine words in ten. But then, again unlike the S.I. version, this translator made Xena laugh. Given that? Taggert was more than willing to sit though the three rounds of 'did you mean' that ran through every sentence. 

Finally, Sandburg chuckled and pulled both women into a group hug. Then pulled Ellison in as well. 

"Good news?" Taggert asked. Surely it couldn't be bad news. Not the way Xena was rolling back on her pillows. 

"Good news and bad news. Well, bad news and good news and bad news and good news." 

"And?" 

"The bad news is she doesn't want Danny's mom. Not long term." 

Well, yes. Taggert hadn't really thought those two would bond. Not with the age and gender issues. But why Xena wouldn't see Mrs. Choi as a sort of second mom? 

"The good news is - she has a bond mate. His name is Zhou. Lan Zhou." 

Yeh. Taggert's mind quipped. And what's Zhou with you? Which was probably evil. Fortunately, after twenty years on the PD, he had a lot of practice keeping a straight face. 

"The other bad news is?" Sandburg gave it three beats - just for drama. "He's somewhere in China." 

"Great!" Taggert flipped out his phone. "They have a registry." 

"Which Lan's not in. Nor is she, by the way. " Sandburg raised his hands, as if to say 'what can I do?' "Her family has kept her Sentinel talents a secret." 

"Why?" Taggert was honesty curious. He could think of any number of reasons a Sentinel in China might want to keep _themselves_ secret. Their Sentinel Service made the S.I. look like the ACLU. But why the family would take the risk? The People's Republic rewarded the relatives of Sentinels very well indeed. 

"Any number of possible reasons why." Blair patted the girl's hand. "Some protective some... not so much so. Ximena here never asked. All was fine and dandy until maybe three weeks ago, when her father told her they'd made a deal. She was going to Yinchuen to be 'married'." 

"Think that meant Aldo?" 

"Long shot." Blair considered the possibility, but... "More likely they really meant married. Last generation's population policy means brides are scarce in China, and a Sentinel is.... Well, she'd bring as much in wedding gifts as they could get from the slavers." 

Jim snorted. "Let's hear it for familial affection." 

"Either way, young Lan didn't much care for the idea." 

"So he grabbed the girl and ran." Which is probably what he would have done in the situation, Taggert conceded. At least, what he would have done back in his teen years. And he wouldn't rule it out even now. 

"They were headed for Beijing. They made it as far as Taiyuan. At which point someone else just grabbed the girl." 

"Authorities?" 

"Not likely. They'd also make more turning her in, and that's not even considering the risk. Which doesn't mean the local police might not have gotten involved later." 

"Great." Taggert groaned. "One teenage Romeo, last seen somewhere in China, and if he's not in jail then he's in hiding." 

"The last bit of good news is - our 'Juliet' here knows the e-mail address of a friend of his. Someone who knows where he goes and who might pass on a message." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"Taggert?" Simon Banks leaned over the computer, just resisting the urge to reach for the comfort of a cigar. "Joel?" 

"Simon?" 

"This is over the edge." 

"If so, this case drove me over the edge." 

Simon gripped his friends hand, freezing the mouse. "To go around the law in order to influence a witness." 

"What influence?" Joel Taggert shock the mouse free. "I can't even talk to our witness. I'm just conducting a search for the relatives of an injured transient." 

"Injured transient SENTINEL." 

"Sense status does not change one's right to the protection of the law." The translation program finished the e-mail. Taggert pressed 'send'. "I'm sure I read that back in our Academy days." 

"Did you also remember reading that family meant father, mother, or siblings?" 

"Xena's disowned them." 

"Be careful, friend, or you're going to end up like the poodle chasing the freight train. He might catch it - but then what's he going to do?" 

"Hey" Joel lunged for the 'Mail' button. "We've got a hit." 

"Already?" 

He slid the message into the reverse translation program, rocking in his chair as the blue bar slid slowly across to reveal the English script. 

"And?" Simon Banks pressed. 

"It's Lan." Joel read quickly. "He says he can get out, at least as far as Macao, but he needs money." 

"Who doesn't?" Simon answered. "Can't we just go though the Chinese police?" 

"If they arrest him, which he isn't going to like. And if we want to five years on the paperwork, which Sandburg isn't going to like. And if we want to piss off his young lady." 

Which nobody would much like. And of the bunch, hers was the good will they needed the most. You might - maybe - sweet talk a judge into allowing a Sentinel to testify. Sometimes. Maybe. If the guardian and/or social worker agreed. But there wasn't a snowball's chance in Miami that any judge would _compel_ one to talk. 

"OK." Simon bit the bullet. "How much does he want?" 

"Airfare." Joel scrolled down the text. "Plus a visa. Say a thousand." 

"To bring a fugitive _into_ the country. Without extradition." Simon shock his head. "No way I can get the Chief to authorize that." 

"No way we have a case without her. No way we have her without him." 

"No way I'm letting anyone know about this until it's done." Because forgiveness was way easier to get then permission. Even if I.A. ended up fining it back out of his own paycheck. "I'll authorize it from office petty cash. Wire the ticket over, and tell him to pick it up at the American Embassy. They'll have the paperwork. Then tell THEM to make damn sure he gets on the plane." 

"That works!" Joel started typing rapidly. "Worst happens, what are we out?" 

Simon lifted Joel's coffee cup. "The donut fund." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

It was three days before Captain Taggert got back to his witness. Who was - he was glad to note - still his witness. Not that Hsu of the S.I. hadn't tried to pull rank, but Sandburg had his own allies who had happily pulled back. The resulting tug-of-judge had stirred up dirt, left everyone unhappy, and concluded nothing except that nothing would be concluded anytime soon. 

Everyone from the Chinese-American Friendship League to the Society of Friends Justice Committee had filed briefs - few of which were actually brief. Most had also sent down 'independent observers' ( independent only in the sense that briefs were brief ) to monitor Miss Chen's suffering at the hands of a ( presumptively) uncaring agency. In return, the Sentinel Institute had dispatched a dozen of it's own agents to guard against presumed (and frankly probable ) conspiracy to escape and even illicit bonding. 

Between them, the various sides had turned the secure wing of the hospital into a strange cross between sit-in and scout camp. 

On the up side? Xena was clearly making out like a bandit. Someone with much better taste then Dr. Hsu had once again gone shopping, and this time they hadn't made a stop at Mall-mart. Her embroidered jeans and silk top came a lot closer to Nordstroms. The better departments, at that. 

The sitting area of her new two-room suite ( demanded by the S.I., who balked at allowing 'strange' men to visit in her bedroom ) was stuffed with... well... stuff. Not cheap stuff either. Taggert spotted both VCR and DVD units hooked into the flat-screen TV, which was in turn hooked into a computer, which in turn appeared wired into the hospitals cable service. Enough to send the PD accountants screaming into the night, except he had heard enough from Sandburg to know that the PD wasn't picking up a penny of it. 

Unfortunately, if Xena was happy, nobody else was. As was evident from the shouting. 

"I must protest this..." What she needed to protest, he couldn't care. Although clearly Hsu did. Extensively. 

"You wanna see protest?" A man waved his cell phone in her face. Taggert recognized him. Trenton Addams. A big shot in the Cascade AntiSlavery Council. "I have the Mayor on speed dial." 

Whatever he wanted, it must have irked the man from the Citizen's Safety Watch. "So? I have the Governor. He's a personal friend and..." 

"I can get the President." American Bonded Rights League representative trumped. 

"You people!" Dr. Hsu shouted them all down. "This obstructionist attitude is why we can't work with you. If you really wanted what was best for Sentinels..." 

Addams shouted back "...we'd have run you out of Cascade years ago." 

"That girl belongs to us." 

"The girl belongs to herself." 

"She's a minor." 

"She's a SENTINEL." 

"Please people." Taggert finally broke in. "Miss Chen is the witness to a crime, and as such she has been taken into protective custody by the Cascade PD. 

Hsu hissed. "For how long are you going to maintain this farce?" 

"Until such time as Daniel Inzunza and any of his co-conspirators are convicted and safely off the streets of Cascade. What that takes, it takes." 

"Unacceptable." 

Addams jumped in again. "It's your attitude that is unacceptable." 

"People. People." Sandburg came out of the back room. He pulled everyone's attention, partially by being the voice of reason, and partially by having a very big and very pissed-off-looking Sentinel at his back. "We're all getting ahead of ourselves - and the situation. Right now, Miss Chen is in no shape to leave the state." He turned to Dr. Hsu. "Don't you agree?" 

Before she could respond, Blair cut back to the man from the ABRL. "Plus right now the police have no formal charges filed so Miss Chen can't possibly have been summoned to testify. Isn't that right?" 

"So nothing plus nothing means we have to do... nothing. Not today. So everyone If you would... just chill and..." 

Addams wasn't listening. "We're not going to let her vanish into the Institute." 

"Well, we're not letting you take her to some nest of runners where she'll just VANISH period." 

"No one wants her to disappear. Except maybe Inzunza." Blair eased between the warring camps. "Look. Does anyone here have any problem - any REAL problem - with where she is now? Today?" 

_glare_

_glare_

_glare_

"Fine." Blair took the angry silence as agreement. Or as close thereto as he would get. "So for now she stays where she is." 

"Actually...." Taggert started. 

"You can't have her either!" The whole crowd turned on him. 

"Christ." Ellison whispered to Blair. "This is worse than that poodle in the divorce case." 

"I wouldn't think of taking her away from any of you." Taggert paused, savoring the moment. "In fact, I'm here to bring someone _to_ the party." 

As if at his signal ( mostly because it was ) a slim young man walked into the room. He was travel rumpled, and edging exhaustion. Neither of which mattered when he saw who was waiting. 

"Ximena!" 

"Lan!" 

"Ximena!" 

The rest was a babble, muffled by two pairs of lips. 

Blair edged up to his translator. "You know what they're saying?" 

She laughed. "Nothing I'd need to repeat." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

"So." Simon once again had the senior task force members in his office. This time, however, he was smiling. "We got names." 

"Girl's got ears like a bat." Taggert's answer had an edge of paternal fondness. "We've already picked up the creep that delivered her to Inzunza, and as soon as the D.A. started talking extradition? Man's singing like a canary. Promised us the whole gang as long as he can do his twenty here." 

"Why the ...?" Sandburg asked, surprised. Most crooks held out for at least _something_ before turning over. 

Taggert looked even happier at that. "Washington's not a death penalty state." 

"Was for Aldo." Sheila Irwin countered. 

"Yeh well." Taggert shrugged. "That was just a bad decision biting him in the ass." 

For the first time, Leslie entered the conversation. "And other places." 

"So?" Simon picked up the file. At the top was a new photo. One of Ximena and Lan. "Happy ending?" 

"For them." Taggert agreed. "Other guys?" 

"Screw the other guys." Simon slapped his hand on the desk. "You don't deserve a happy ending you have to steal." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

  * EPILOGUE ** 



"Hey! Simon!" 

"What?" 

Joel Taggert tossed a red envelope onto the other Captain's desk. "Wedding invitation." 

Simon opened it, reading quickly. "They're heading back to China?" 

"They like their home. Home likes keeping their Sentinels." Taggert dropped into the office chair. "Our people had a word with their people. Or at least Sandberg's people had a talk with everybody's people. Upshot is that all is forgiven. U.S. doesn't offer the kid refugee status, and China doesn't do anything that might make the kid merit it." 

"And Ximena ends up in the system." 

"They both do. Which is what probably should have happened all along." 

Or at least, to be more exact, what _would_ have happened. And while Taggert was no friend of the S.I., he wasn't gonna join the hosanna choir with Addams or go all greenpeace with the SWRT longhairs. Yeh, Sentinel's had a right to their rights, and some of them were even his best friends, but they also freaked out and ripped the heads off of people. Look at Ellison. Best of the breed, and he still would have torn a chunk off Aldo if Sandburg hadn't been there. Which would have save the CPD this hassle, and a lot of spare change, but that still didn't make it good. Better for everyone - even Xena - if someone taught her how to handle her senses. 

"She's going into training, and he's going with her. But before they head home they want to get married. Make sure no one can separate them again." 

"What the heck. Might as well go." Simon shook the empty coffee can. The one that used to hold the office snack fund. "We already gave them their present." 

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

**END**

_v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_ ^ _v_v_

OK. I did this for a number of reasons - most of them unworthy. 

Actually, I deny that _I_ had anything to do with this. It was all Musey's fault! She is EVIL!!! The B**CH! kept me up ALL NIGHT! Twice! 

That said? I started to type up a brief 'comment' drabble. Just a hundred words or so, where Aldo puts the moves on a Sentinel and gets clobbered to death. (Well, clobbered. When I started typing, I wasn't even sure about the death part.) 

But then a whole bunch of other questions took over. 

SO! SEE! It's all LitGal's fault! Her and her evil CI universe! I should sue! _giggle snort_

Like, what would grow in the flood of bandidi that Sandburg's work might unleash? What other organizations would get involved? And could we see a less 'adverse' overview of the S.I. working with a Sentinel who was somewhere in the middle ground between Ranger and human refuse? 

Then there was the Crossover Challenge. CSI:Cascade! 

Could I write a Sentinel story with no Jim and no Blair? (Clearly not - but I think they are minimal here. And you don't want to SEE the start where I tried replacing Banks with Grissom. Really, you don't. Your eyes would melt from the crack! ) 

SO! SEE! It's all THEIR fault! Why are all these plot bunnies always picking on me! 

1 

* * *

End 

CSI : Cascade by Darklady: kkreinke@earthlink.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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